The Truth About Numbnuts and Chubbs(14)

"We could have given you a ride home, Bry."

We? So things were patched up with Carl.

Bed. He'd said it. He was thinking the flashing neon sign too.

"I wanted to get home before the storm," she said to Helena on the phone. "It's pretty bad out there and I knew it would be tough to get a cab. Traffic was awful. Cars sliding all over." Nervous, she crammed words in until they leaked around the edges. "Everything ok?"

"Everything's fine." As if there was never anything wrong. Amazing what a risky quickie can do, she mused. "I'll call you tomorrow," Helena exclaimed in the loud voice she used to tie up conversations. "Just wanted to make sure you got home ok."

"Yep. No problem."

When she shut the phone, Ben came to stand beside her and look out. "Why did you lie about where you are?"

"I didn't lie." She hesitated. "It was a slight evasion of the truth. I didn't feel like answering a barrage of questions."

"Oh. Right."

"Besides. Why would I lie? If she asked me outright I would have told her. It's perfectly innocent." She stared at their reflection in the window. He was turned toward her, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. Bry knew he was staring at her, but what specifically caught his interest she couldn't tell. Her heart thumped hard. It felt as if her entire body was jumping with it. Maybe he saw.

Why had she agreed to let him bring her here? In her mind she wrote out the points, scribbling them on a yellow legal pad, adding them up.

One, the simple answer—she was nosy. That had to be worth twenty five percent. Maybe a little less.

Two, the embarrassing confession—he was paying attention to her and she liked it. Bry was flattered. Another quarter percent therefore had to be granted to her inner giggling idiot and cheerleader reject.

Three, absolute truth—Bry was horny and he was the most attractive man she knew. That made the total up to almost three quarters of a reason.

Finally came the complex, underlying issue—he was the most teasing, frustrating man she'd ever known and it was time she got this out of her system. She would surely be relieved of this dreadful fascination once she'd seen that he was, in fact, just like every other man without his clothes. Besides, on behalf of every other average woman in the street, every other overlooked female, she had a flag to raise and something to prove to Benedick sexy-pants Petruska.

There was a tiny sliver of the pie chart that couldn't be accounted for. Maybe later she'd figure that out.

She was about to turn toward him when his phone rattled with the sound of coins falling from a slot machine. He picked up. "Carl?"

She couldn't hear the other side of the conversation. Carl was nowhere near as loud as his wife.

"I knew you would get home with Helena....no...no...I just got in....early start in the morning. Yes, I did tell you. Listen, it wasn't my kind of party....yes....no...uh huh...no idea....ok." He shut his phone and set it on the wide window ledge.

"Why didn't you tell him I was here?" she asked smugly, head tilted.

"I can, if you want me to." He reached for his phone again, but she brought her hand down on his.

"No."

"But it's perfectly innocent." His eyes narrowed. "You said so."

Ah, so she had.



* * * *



The moment her hand touched him, he knew he couldn't let her leave his apartment that night. It was a long time since he'd felt this much excitement shooting through his veins, this much desire for a woman. Was it the first time she'd ever touched him? It felt as if it might be. His skin came alive where her fingers stretched over his knuckles.

He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. Fuck. Suddenly he was goddamn nervous again. "Sure you don't want something to eat?"

"Quite sure." She was looking up at him, eyes blue and shining—but not with the innocence she claimed a few seconds ago.

"Are you cold?"

"No," she replied softly. "I'm never cold. Do I look cold?"

"It's a thin dress. I just thought—"

On tip toe she kissed him. He inhaled her spicy perfume, tasted her lipstick. Her breasts moved against his shirt and white hot need burst through his body. Quickly his hands swept up to caress her shape. If she was wearing anything underneath, he couldn't feel it. She was firm but the curves were very full, a perfect weight in his palms. A low groan, emerged from deep in his throat and his cock hardened, his balls tightened.

"Ms. Mulligan." He circled one finger over the nipple pricking at the front of her dress. "You're not wearing a bra."

"I took it off in your bathroom," she confessed, her breath blowing soft against his cheek. "Panties too."